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John looked up, frowning.
“We’re under the mistletoe”, he whispered.
Sherlock looked down, eyes glittering. “So it would seem.”
“Everyone’s attention is on us, including your brother’s,” John hissed.
Sherlock’s eyes twinkled. “Should we give them a show?” he asked, eyebrow arching.
John gaped. “What? Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
“You know my methods, Watson; apply them.”
John huffed in amusement. “Watson? Really?”
Sherlock shrugged. “Would you prefer ‘My dear John’?”
John’s grin faded. “I don’t know. Would you mean it?”
Their awareness of their surroundings narrowed. The background noise of conversation dwindled into non-existence as the two flatmates stared at each other. Time seemed to stop.
Sherlock’s hands reached out for John’s hips; John’s hands grasped Sherlock’s arms. Sherlock’s head lowered, John’s tilted up. Gently, tentatively, their lips met.
A cacophony of applause and catcalls flooded their senses when they finally pulled apart.
The two flatmates grinned at each other.
“I didn’t think…”
“I thought you…”
They burst into giggles. They touched their foreheads together, and Sherlock gently cupped John’s cheek.
“Yo, get a room,” Lestrade called out gleefully.
“It’s already our room,” John barked out, laughing.
“Now that everyone knows, Mycroft won’t be able to use this against us,” Sherlock snarked. “No sense holding back now.”
“Indeed,” John agreed as he reached up for another buss.